She stated that she was terminally ill and wanted to “fix things” before moving back into my home. She continued: “It would mean a lot to stay in the home I raised you in.” I declined, telling her, “You did not raise me.” “You left.” She cried, accusing me of being harsh. That I am her only child.
I didn’t think much about it until yesterday. The police arrived at my home and informed me that a neighbor had called. They claimed there was an unresponsive woman on my front steps.
It was my mother. She’d been outside for hours, her suitcases still alongside her. They believe she collapsed due to tiredness or because she stopped taking her medications.
She is currently hospitalized. They inquired if I was her emergency contact. I said no.
I felt a pang of guilt. But I’ve spent more years grieving for a living mother than most people do for a deceased one. I’m not going to open my door to someone who closed it on me first.
Does that imply that I am heartless?
